


Don't Get Me Wrong

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Feelings, First Kiss, M/M, Pining, Romance, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24166378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: Alexander hasn't seen his former boss since Washington fired him. Now the man is standing on his doorstep asking to make amends, and Alexander doesn't know what to do.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington
Comments: 24
Kudos: 133





	Don't Get Me Wrong

Alexander waits—breathes—until his heart stops ricocheting with panic. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He doesn't plan on admitting how frightened he was a second ago—by the sudden movement of a shadow in the dark space beside the door—or how relieved he is to see that shadow resolve into a familiar face. Coming home past midnight is always a little nerve wracking. Even if this is one of the safest neighborhoods Alexander has ever lived in, he's not going to let his guard down.

And it's terrifying regardless, to find someone waiting outside his apartment building—no matter how apologetically that someone is peering at him through the dim yellow entry light.

"I'm sorry." George Washington's eyes hold too many shadows for Alexander to read. "I know it's late."

'Late' is an understatement, and Alexander stares incredulously. "How long have you been waiting here?"

"Can I come in?" Washington says instead of answering the damn question.

Alexander sincerely considers refusing. He is exhausted—not to mention a little drunk—and even if it's been a good birthday, that doesn't mean he's in the mood for unexpected company. If he wanted to be around people, he could've stayed at the bar where his party is still going strong without him. But Alexander is tired and more than a little bit melancholy, and too tipsy to pretend the man standing in front of him isn't ninety-eight percent of the reason he's out of sorts.

"Fine," he says, even before consciously deciding to agree. The word comes out sullen enough to earn a quirked eyebrow from Washington.

"If this is a bad time—"

"It's the _middle of the night_." Alexander unlocks the door, resisting the urge to point out the heart attack Washington nearly gave him. "Get your ass in here."

He leads the way wordlessly to the second floor. It's not that he has nothing to say. He has far too many things to say, and all of them are bad ideas. But he is painfully aware of Washington close behind him—of the man he's been trying not to obsess over for the better part of a year, suddenly within reach. He can't imagine what Washington's purpose might be tonight, and his head spins trying to bring the puzzle into clearer focus.

Or maybe it's not the puzzle making his head spin. Fuck. Maybe he's more drunk than he thought.

He keeps his footing with concerted effort, even though he doesn't really care if Washington sees him stumble. He probably _should_ care. After all, he's spent nearly a decade desperate for this man's approval. He should be mortified at the idea of embarrassing himself tonight. But between the alcohol, the fatigue, and the months of self-flagellation over mistakes he can't fix, he can't be bothered.

Inside his own apartment, he flips the light switch and lets the door swing shut a little too loud. Locking himself in with Washington at his side.

"So?" Alexander kicks his shoes off and tosses his jacket over the back of a chair. He nearly overbalances for a moment, catches himself. The little studio apartment always feels cramped—he could have afforded something nicer with the salary from his new firm—but the effect is compounded with Washington's powerful frame filling the confined space. "You gonna tell me why you're here?"

Washington is watching him closely now. "I wanted to apologize. I regret how we left things."

Alexander's brow furrows. The anger he tried so hard to hang onto in the weeks after he and Washington parted ways is nowhere to be found. It curdled and faded months ago in the face of unwelcome self-awareness. 

"What is there to regret?" he asks. "I fucked up. You fired me. It's not that complicated." Hell, Washington even helped him get a new job after the whole Charles Lee debacle. On the sly, sure—he probably doesn't even realize Alexander knows about his machinations—but he still stuck his neck out when he had no obligation to help a former employee who stepped out of line.

"I should have given you another chance." Washington's voice is uncharacteristically soft. "I reacted badly."

"You did what you had to." Alexander stares down at his hands where they grip the back of the chair with his jacket. Betrayed as he felt at the time—he'd expected the personal connection between them to earn him some leeway, even if that 'connection' was mostly him being secretly in love with his boss—he now understands Washington had no choice. Even if there were some hint of deeper affection, how would leniency have looked under the circumstances? Preferential treatment would have reflected poorly on both of them.

"I let personal feelings cloud what should have been a professional situation," Washington counters, and the words are so thick with emotion Alexander's head snaps up.

Personal feelings. Alexander swallows past sudden tightness in his throat. Reminds himself that just because Washington has _personal feelings_ about him, doesn't mean those feelings are romantic. This disastrous infatuation is still his own problem to contend with.

"Did you really wait on my doorstep until one in the morning to reminisce about the fact that you _fired me_?" Even now, trying to make the words as accusatory as possible, Alexander can't find the fire to sound angry.

"No," Washington says. "I came to apologize. And to ask if there's any way I can make it up to you."

Alexander stares, wide-eyed and stung. "Make it up to me? You want to— What the fuck does that even mean?"

Another moment—a silence so profound Alexander's pulse quickens—and finally Washington admits, "I miss you. If I might presume… I miss your friendship. I was hoping… I wondered if we might try again."

"You want to be friends." Disbelief raises Alexander's voice, and Washington flinches.

"Alexander—"

"No." Alexander's heart gives an aching, agonized pulse. "That's not— I can't. I can't be friends with you." Not after the way things went down—not with his own mountain of guilty regret—not after a year of hating himself and failing to shut down feelings he cannot afford to have.

For an instant Washington looks gutted at the assertion. Then his expression shutters and he gives a rigid nod.

"You're right, of course. It was a foolish question. I'm sorry for interrupting your night." He turns toward the door, setting a hand to the knob with movements so stiff it's impossible _not_ to read the hurt in them. Alexander should let him leave. He should let the hurt stand, the lesser of so many possible harms.

Instead he blurts, "Don't you want to know _why_ I can't be your friend?"

Washington turns without taking his hand off the door.

And Alexander—god help him—surges forward. Directly into Washington's space. Up onto his toes, because Washington is so much taller than him. Alexander takes Washington's face between his hands and rises to kiss him, and never mind that this is the most idiotic thing he's ever done. Never mind the inevitable rejection, the pending disaster, the Sword of Damocles ready to fall. Alexander's chest is a whirlwind of frantic emotion, and he doesn't think he will ever be able to regret this.

Before he can let go and retreat, strong hands are on him—powerful arms circling his waist—and suddenly Alexander is being crushed to Washington's chest. The stillness of surprise bleeds away and now Washington is kissing him back. Holding on so tight Alexander can't breathe. Vertigo spins his senses and he wraps his arms around Washington's shoulders for balance, shivering as he finds himself shoved against the wall.

When the kiss breaks, Alexander inhales sharply. He opens his eyes and stares up into Washington's face. Suddenly he feels lightheaded in startlingly pleasant ways.

"Oh," he says. And then, "Please tell me you're going to stay tonight." Washington still has him pinned in place, all broad form and imposing muscle, and Alexander's insides warm with desire. He wants Washington to touch him. To follow Alexander to bed and kiss him again. To undress and give him everything he has spent years wanting.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Washington says in a strained voice.

"What? No! Why w—"

"Because we should discuss this when you're sober," Washington interrupts him gently.

Right. Sober. Because Alexander has been drinking, and Washington isn't a complete asshole. Because if they're going to do this, they need to do it right. Because no matter how unlikely this is, Alexander needs it to be real come morning.

"You'll still be here tomorrow?" Alexander hates how helpless he sounds, but he is desperate for reassurance. "You won't go anywhere?"

Washington's smile is impossibly soft. "I promise."

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Clear, Reminisce, Fright


End file.
